Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 531 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Bad news my Lord, Mourton is fled to Richmond, And Buckingham backed with the hardy Welshmen Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near, Then Buckingham and his rash levied Strength. Come, I have learned, that fearful commenting Is leaden servitor to dull delay. Delay leds impotent and Snaile-paced Beggary: Then fiery expedition be my wing, Jove's Mercury, and Herald for a King: Go muster men: My counsel is my Shield, We must be brief, when Traitors brave the Field. So now prosperity begins to mellow, And drop into the rotten mouth of death: here in these Confines slily have I lurked, To watch the waning of mine enemies. A dire induction, am I witness to, And will to France, hoping the consequence Will prove as bitter, black, and Tragical. Withdraw thee wretched Margaret, who comes here? Ah my poor Princes! ah my tender Babes: My unblowed Flowers, new appearing sweets: If yet your gentle souls fly in the Air, And be not fixed in doom perpetual, Hover about me with your eyrie wings, And hear your mother's Lamentation. Hover about her, say that right for right Hath dimmed your Infant morn, to Aged night. So many miseries have crazed my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute. Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, Edward for Edward, pays a dying debt. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle Lambs, And throw them in the entrails of the Wolf? When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done? When holy Harry died, and my sweet Son. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost, Woes Scene, World's shame, Graves due, by life usurped, Brief abstract and record of tedious days, Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood. Ah that thou wouldst as soon afford a Grave, As thou canst yield a melancholy sear: Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here, Ah who hath any cause to mourn but we? If ancient sorrow be most reverent, Give mine the benefit of signory, And let my griefs frown on the upper hand If sorrow can admit Society. I had an Edward, till a Richard killed him: I had a Husband, till a Richard killed him: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard killed him: Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou hop'st to kill him. Thou hadst a Clarence too, And Richard killed him. From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A Hellhound that doth hunt us all to death: That Dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry Lambs, and lap their gentle blood: That foul defacer of God's handy work: That reigns in gauled eyes of weeping souls: That excellent grand Tyrant of the earth, Thy womb let lose to chase us to our graves. O upright, just, and true-disposing God, How do I thank thee, that this carnal Cur Prays on the issue of his Mother's body, And makes her Pew-fellow with others moan.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Bad news my Lord, Mourton is fled to Richmond, And Buckingham backt with the hardy Welſhmen Is in the field, and ſtill his power encreaſeth. Ely with Richmond troubles me more neere, Then Buckingham and his raſh leuied Strength. Come, I haue learn'd, that fearfull commenting Is leaden ſeruitor to dull delay. Delay leds impotent and Snaile-pac'd Beggery: Then fierie expedition be my wing, Ioues Mercury, and Herald for a King: Go muſter men: My counſaile is my Sheeld, We muſt be breefe, when Traitors braue the Field. So now proſperity begins to mellow, And drop into the rotten mouth of death: Heere in theſe Confines ſlily haue I lurkt, To watch the waining of mine enemies. A dire induction, am I witneſſe to, And will to France, hoping the conſequence Will proue as bitter, blacke, and Tragicall. Withdraw thee wretched Margaret, who comes heere? Ah my poore Princes! ah my tender Babes: My vnblowed Flowres, new appearing ſweets: If yet your gentle ſoules flye in the Ayre, And be not fixt in doome perpetuall, Houer about me with your ayery wings, And heare your mothers Lamentation. Houer about her, ſay that right for right Hath dim'd your Infant morne, to Aged night. So many miſeries haue craz'd my voyce, That my woe-wearied tongue is ſtill and mute. Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, Edward for Edward, payes a dying debt. Wilt thou, O God, flye from ſuch gentle Lambs, And throw them in the intrailes of the Wolfe? When didſt thou ſleepe, when ſuch a deed was done? When holy Harry dyed, and my ſweet Sonne. Dead life, blind ſight, poore mortall liuing ghoſt, Woes Scene, Worlds ſhame, Graues due, by life vſurpt, Breefe abſtract and record of tedious dayes, Reſt thy vnreſt on Englands lawfull earth, Vnlawfully made drunke with innocent blood. Ah that thou would'ſt aſſoone affoord a Graue, As thou canſt yeeld a melancholly ſeare: Then would I hide my bones, not reſt them heere, Ah who hath any cauſe to mourne but wee? If ancient ſorrow be moſt reuerent, Giue mine the benefit of ſigneurie, And let my greefes frowne on the vpper hand If ſorrow can admit Society. I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him: I had a Husband, till a Richard kill'd him: Thou had'ſt an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him: Thou had'ſt a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. I had a Richard too, and thou did'ſt kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou hop'ſt to kill him. Thou had'ſt a Clarence too, And Richard kill'd him. From forth the kennell of thy wombe hath crept A Hell-hound that doth hunt vs all to death: That Dogge, that had his teeth before his eyes, To wory Lambes, and lap their gentle blood: That foule defacer of Gods handy worke: That reignes in gauled eyes of weeping ſoules: That excellent grand Tyrant of the earth, Thy wombe let looſe to chaſe vs to our graues. O vpright, iuſt, and true-diſpoſing God, How do I thanke thee, that this carnall Curre Prayes on the iſſue of his Mothers body, And makes her Pue-fellow with others mone.